A Change of Heart
by lovepmd
Summary: This story begins as Margaret visits the Thorntons just before leaving Milton. What might have happened if Margaret had been a bit more forthright with her feelings? Please R&R...shall I continue?
1. Chapter 1

This is based on Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South and the BBC adaptation of the novel, starring Richard Armitage and Daniela Denby-Ashe. You may recognize a few snippets of dialog from the adaptation here. Disclaimer: These characters/borrowed dialog do not belong to me. (Note: I realized the last few lines were accidentally moved further up in the chapter when I copied this over, so I edited to correct. My apologies for any confusion!)

**A Change of Heart**: Ch. 1.

With what little strength she had, Margaret roused herself from her father's chair and made her way downstairs to don her bonnet and coat. She had only one last task to complete before her Aunt Shaw would escort her back to London, back to her home at Harley Street. Margaret was not eager to complete this task; she was not happy to be leaving Milton, despite all of the sadness she had felt there, and she could not shake the lingering regret she felt that Mr. Thornton should still think so badly of her. She wanted so very much to have his good opinion, or so she told herself. Somewhere, in a place she did not quite acknowledge, there was also the profound feeling that there was more to her regret than that – that perhaps, she wished she could have his affection, the love he pledged he would not abandon, once more. She knew that to be impossible, though, as he had renounced the "foolish passion" he'd had for her, so she kept her deepest wishes locked away from her conscious thoughts, refusing to face the implications that were presented by the combination of her prideful, prejudiced actions and the realization that Mr. Thornton was in fact the finest man she had ever met.

So it was with a heavy heart that Margaret set off to complete her final task in Milton – to bid farewell to the Thorntons of Marlborough Mills. She had asked her Aunt to remain at Crampton, knowing how ill at ease her Aunt would be visiting a _manufacturer's_ home. Margaret simply did not have the wherewithal to bear her aunt's ungracious commentary. Having reached the Mill, Margaret was ushered inside the gate by Williams and made her way to the house, where she was admitted by one of the maids. She was led to the drawing room, and found Mrs. Thornton sitting with her needlework. Margaret took a seat on the sofa to Mrs. Thornton's left, as she was bid. After brief remarks of sympathy and polite inquiry as to the health of the other, Margaret and Mrs. Thornton sat in awkward silence. Margaret ventured to break that silence:

"Mrs. Thornton, I know we have not always understood each other, but I would very much regret to part on bad terms. Please accept my apology for the way I spoke to you at our last meeting. I know your intentions were good."

"Thank you, Miss Hale. Consider it forgotten," Mrs. Thornton responded, more out of sympathy for Margaret's orphaned condition than from true forgiveness. She still resented Margaret's refusal of her son, and could not bring herself to consider that perhaps Margaret had acted innocently that night at the train station.

"So you will be leaving today, Miss Hale?"

"Yes, my aunt wishes to take me home as soon as possible."

Suddenly, Margaret noticed Mr. Thornton's presence in the doorway behind her. She did not know how long he had been there.

"Indeed, as soon as possible," replied Mrs. Thornton.

"So, you are going?" Mr. Thornton spoke in a low voice, half questioning, half stating the obvious, as he lowered his eyes to the floor. His face was weighed down with sadness, which Margaret attributed to her father's death.

Margaret stood and faced him fully. "Yes… although it is not my wish," she acknowledged forthrightly.

At these words, he started. His eyes shifted abruptly to her face, searching for he knew not what. "You…you do not wish to leave?"

"No," she confirmed in a barely audible voice, as she fought the almost inexplicable urge to cry.

"But you have always disliked Milton, Miss Hale. Surely you cannot wish to remain here." Mrs. Thornton thrust herself back into the conversation, drawing the attention of her son and Margaret back to the fact that they were not alone.

"Not always, Mrs. Thornton… in the beginning, yes, but not now."

Mrs. Thornton stared at her perplexedly.

Mr. Thornton could not believe what he heard. His heart raced. Had she indeed come to feel differently about Milton? Could that possibly mean that perhaps she had changed her feelings towards him as well? He had to know before he could let her leave him forever. But how?

Receiving no immediate response, Margaret remembered that she had brought her father's copy of Plato to give to Mr. Thornton. She moved to retrieve it from the sofa, and then turned and approached him.

"Mr. Thornton, I have brought father's Plato for you. I thought you might like it, and I am sure it would please him for you to have it. Father valued your friendship very much," she said evenly, having regained some of her composure.

"As I valued his; he is deeply missed" replied Mr. Thornton quietly, as he stepped forward from the doorway and grasped the book she held out to him. "I shall treasure it." He paused, his mind struggling to find a way to detain her and discern what she meant when she had said she did not wish to leave Milton.

Margaret looked down, not wanting to leave, but sure that the visit had come to an end. She had begun to turn in order to bid Mrs. Thornton goodbye, when his voice, soft and quiet, arrested her movement.

"Miss Hale, there is something I would like to offer you; would you accompany me to the library?"

Margaret's eyes flashed to his in utter surprise. She could not imagine what he meant to give her, or indeed what could have made him speak so gently to her.

Mrs. Thornton raised her eyebrows in disapproval. She could not openly protest her son's actions, but neither could she condone the repeated risking of his heart to such an unworthy young woman. She wished Miss Hale would just take herself off and never set foot in Milton again. Perhaps then John could be at peace, she reasoned.

"Yes, Mr. Thornton, as you wish," Margaret finally answered, with not a little bewilderment evident in her tone.

.

.

.

Please review & let me know if I should continue!


	2. Chapter 2

Here is Chapter 2. I used a bit of Mrs. Gaskell's ending here. Let me know what you think!

Hardly sure how he had mustered the courage to be so bold, Mr. Thornton turned sharply and bid her follow him. As he turned from her, he could not help but think himself mad to be indulging the deepest wishes of his heart by trying to understand Margaret's apparent change of opinion about Milton. He could not resist hoping that somehow that change could also apply to him. It was a tiny hope, but in light of the utter desolation he had suffered these past months, it was as though a bright fire burned in his chest.

They arrived in the library, both feeling a little uncomfortable to be alone together, and each unsure of what the other felt and intended.

"Miss Hale, I…"

Something unfamiliar in Mr. Thornton's demeanor – a certain softness, perhaps – gave Margaret a surge of courage.

"Please, Mr. Thornton," Margaret interrupted. "I did not think I would have the chance to speak with you, but now as the opportunity has arisen, and as my departure looms ever closer, I must. I could not forgive myself otherwise. I have been so terribly pained and shamed by the falsehood to the police inspector… particularly in that I knew it debased me in your eyes. I cannot bear it." She looked to him with pleading eyes.

Mr. Thornton stared at her in amazed and anxious silence, willing her to continue. She looked down and did so: "I cannot regret it entirely, for it was done to protect another. I could not speak of it to you earlier for fear for his safety, but I must speak to you now to satisfy my conscience. The man you saw me with at the station that night, he is my brother."

She searched his face for understanding; what she saw baffled her. Mr. Thornton hung his head and sighed raggedly in what appeared to be deep relief.

"So….so, you are not….you do not…" Mr. Thornton stammered.

Margaret did not know what to say; her heart raced as she trembled at the emotion in Mr. Thornton's incomplete utterance.

"My brother, Frederick, is wanted by the Navy," she continued hurriedly. "He is not at fault, but he was charged with mutiny nonetheless and faces immediate hanging if he is ever discovered. We could not allow anyone to know of his presence here. He came only to see mother one last time. I am sorry I could not tell you earlier, but I was afraid for his life while I believed him still to be in the country. And I, …I did not wish to put you in a difficult position as a magistrate."

Margaret bowed her head in regret, and did not see the elation in Mr. Thornton's expression. "Margaret…." he began, with great emotion, his courage rising, and hope with it.

At the tender tone of his voice, Margaret raised her face to his, eyes wide.

"Margaret," he said again, and this time she noticed the use of her Christian name. "How is it that you do not wish to leave Milton…when you have lost so much here?"

She was at a loss at this change in topic. She could not believe he did not remark upon all that she had divulged – all that she had kept so closely guarded for so long. "I hardly know," she began hesitantly. "I did not like Milton when I first came here, but I have grown accustomed to it." She paused. "It is my home," she added almost inaudibly.

"Your home?" Mr. Thornton murmurred, afraid to believe what he heard.

"Yes, because in Milton I have lived a full life; I've learned much. I…" She broke off, looking once more at the floor.

"Miss Hale, you…what?"

"I… I have known you, Mr. Thornton," as she uttered these words, she wished she could run from the room. Her strength of character, however, kept her feet firmly rooted to the floor; her only escape was to keep her eyes away from his. She could not bear to look at what would surely be reproach in his eyes, though she did not doubt that she deserved it.

"Margaret!" Mr. Thornton breathed.

She would not look at him.

"Margaret," he said again, with more force. "I must know what you mean. You do not wish to leave Milton because…you have known me?"

"Mr. Thornton, please. Forget what I said."

"Forget?" he asked, the pain evident in his voice. "How can I forget...what…what may be that which I have long wished to hear? How can I not try once more to…" His voice trailed off.

He waited, but she said nothing. He could hardly contain the swirl of emotions that stirred within him – fear, hope, longing, consternation, love – but he would not speak so unguardedly, so rashly, this time. He needed some assurance from her, some sign that he was not alone, his feelings not unrequited, any longer.

"Margaret, please…speak, or I shall claim you as my own in some presumptuous way."

"Your own?" she nearly whispered. "…But you said…you told me you did not care for me."

"Never mind what I said then. What did you mean when you said you have _known me_?"

"Oh, Mr. Thornton, I cannot. I am not good enough," Margaret murmured.

Mr. Thornton could hold his feelings at bay no longer.

"Not good enough! Don't make a mockery of my own sense of unworthiness. Margaret…" He hesitated. "Margaret, I did not speak the truth when I said my passion for you was over. Can you not see how it was impossible for me to do otherwise, when I had no hope of gaining your regard, when I believed you to love another? I loved you then. I love you still." He moved closer to her, his eyes beseeching her for a response. He was terrified to hope too much, yet she did not shrink away from him as he feared.

Margaret was somewhat stunned by Mr. Thornton's admission, but not displeased as she had been the first time he told her of his love. Through the overwhelming waves of confusion, and, it seemed, elation – for her feelings, and their strength, surprised even herself – she managed to speak at last.

"Mr. Thornton, please do not think me…indifferent to your feelings. I…I have learned that things in Milton are not always as they appear, that I misjudged you. I have come to deeply regret the way I have spoken to you, especially after the riot. Please forgive me."

"Forgive you, Margaret? I cannot forgive what I do not resent."

Margaret raised her eyes to Mr. Thornton's. She could hardly believe his words or understand his gentle, loving tone of voice.

"You are no longer indifferent to me?" Mr. Thornton continued timidly. "Can you possibly return even a small measure of my feelings for you?" He waited for his heart to break afresh, too afraid to look at her.

.

.

.

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

I am very sorry to have neglected this story for so long! I couldn't decide how it should continue. I thought about it a lot, and while I would have enjoyed a quick resolution, I think that what I have written is a bit more realistic, and ultimately, I hope, more interesting. So without further ado, here is Chapter 3. I hope you enjoy it! Please review and let me know what you think!

* * *

**A Change of Heart: Chapter 3**

"You are no longer indifferent to me?" Mr. Thornton continued timidly. "Can you possibly return even a small measure of my feelings for you?" He waited for his heart to break afresh, too afraid to look at her.

Margaret was lost in overwhelming confusion—in feelings she could neither identify nor explain. She had only intended to explain about Frederick—to absolve herself before leaving Milton. She had not expected Mr. Thornton's kindness, let alone a reaffirmation of his affection for her. It was all too much.

Mr. Thornton's heart sank at her silence. He was sure he had once again spoken too freely; that he had once again let his hope run too wild; that she was searching for a way to kindly reject him. Resignation quickly took hold of him once more; he sought to end the painful silence that engulfed them: "Miss Hale—"

Just then, Margaret looked up at him—for his voice drew her from her own tumultuous thoughts—and immediately felt the dejection in his expression which, in fact, pervaded his entire being. She looked down again, summoning the clarity to speak.

"I need time," Margaret finally uttered, almost inaudibly, cutting off Mr. Thornton just as he had begun. It was as much of a response as she could manage, with her mind and heart racing as they were.

Mr. Thornton's eyes darted to her face, and he realized his mistake. She did not look displeased or offended as he had feared, but instead had the look of someone lost—of someone who did not know where to go next.

"Time…" Mr Thornton quietly echoed.

"Yes. I meant what I said—about not being indifferent. But with Papa gone now…" She paused. "I am adrift Mr. Thornton. I hardly know how I feel. These last few days there has been nothing but numbness, and I do not know in what direction my life is going. But life is so short—so unpredictable. I knew that had to tell you of Frederick...before I leave," she finished slowly.

She could not unravel all of the thoughts swirling in her mind, but she ached at the loss of her father, and at the prospect of her undecided future. She was not sure what she was trying to tell him.

"I am sorry, Mr. Thornton."

"Sorry? Whatever for?" he countered incredulously.

"I have been rambling, and I am afraid I cannot answer you in the way that you wish. I cannot think properly." She shook her head softly as she lowered her gaze.

"Margaret, it is I who should apologize. I did not intend to pressure you. I should have considered your position—your feelings. I am sorry, Margaret. It is as it ever was, regarding you, I fear. I—please forgive me—I have never stopped caring for you, and when your words towards Milton, and towards me, were kind…I could not contain my hope."

Some moments passed before he continued. "I will wait, Margaret," he affirmed earnestly. She looked up at this forthright promise, and found Mr. Thornton's full attention on her. "Forever. I cannot forget you," he added quietly.

She reached out and placed her small right hand on his forearm, in a gesture that communicated what she could not with words. She was moved by his steadfastness and his honesty, and she nearly ached with tenderness when she looked upon him, upon the expression on his face.

He saw all of this wash over her features. He could not resist gently taking her cheek in his hand and passing his thumb back and forth over its soft expanse.

She felt tears begin to well in her eyes. After all of the heartache and sorrow she had borne, it was Mr. Thornton's kindness that most threatened to undo her. She had never felt so intensely cared for, and certainly had not expected to feel anything like it after losing both of her parents. As she reached up to take his hand from her face, she found she could no longer hold her emotions in check. All of the tears she had refused to shed over the loss of Bessie, her mother's decline and death, her perceived denigration before Mr. Thornton, and now, her father's passing, came pouring down her cheeks. She was, at last, in the presence of one who not only loved her, but one who also would be strong for her. Mr. Thornton took her into his arms, not caring in the least how it might appear.

"Oh, Margaret," he murmured, as he held her close and rested his cheek against her hair. He let her cry against his chest for some time before he felt her arms slide around him. He sighed and felt the back of his own eyes prick with the threat of tears. He was overwhelmed by the strange mix of emotions in that embrace—the tender joy of holding her mingled with the pain of seeing her in such sorrow. He was glad, at least, that she allowed him to comfort her.

At last, she pulled back from him slightly, attempting to regain her composure. She withdrew her arms from him and swiped her cheeks to clear away the tears.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered in embarrassment. It was not like her to cry openly, and she felt her vulnerability keenly.

"Margaret, please do not apologize. You have lost your father, and not very long after the loss of your mother. You have expended a great deal of concern and effort in caring for them. I daresay you needed this. I am grateful you were not alone."

"Yes, thank you. I do feel better—relieved, somehow."

"I am glad to hear it," he replied. He then guided her to a nearby settee, where they sat together a bit closer than propriety would dictate.

With some of her tension relieved and sorrow expressed, Margaret's mind cleared enough to remember how they came to be in the library together.

"Mr. Thornton, might I ask a question?"

"Of course," he replied openly, not betraying the apprehension he felt at this sudden turn in the conversation.

"Well, we came to your library because you said you had something you wished to offer me. Might I ask what it was?"

Mr. Thornton colored, but smiled, as he hung his head sheepishly. "I confess I had nothing in mind, except to find a way to speak to you further—without my mother present."

"Oh!," Margaret exclaimed. "Your mother! She must wonder what has become of us," she worried.

"Do not concern yourself on her account."

"But we have been here so long—much longer than it could possibly take for you to give me a parting gift. I really must be on my way." She moved as if to get up. "Aunt Shaw will be quite put out that I have been gone so long."

Mr. Thornton's hand on her arm stayed her. He did not care what her Aunt Shaw thought.

"But what of you, Margaret? You care so much for others, but you neglect your own needs. You said yourself that you do not wish to leave Milton. But your Aunt is here to take you to London," Mr. Thornton prodded gently.

"I hardly have the luxury of doing as I would wish," Margaret countered. "I cannot afford to keep our little Crampton home by myself. And my family would hardly let me stay here alone even if I could."

"Surely it could be arranged." He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Margaret, would you allow me to speak to your Aunt—as your father's friend?"

He was determined to find a way to keep her in Milton.


End file.
